Page 4 of Waiting for a Prince (Island Tales #1)

Chapter Three

Mark loved Mondays. Okay, so Sundays were pretty cool too, but that was usually when there were more people out and about over the island, as virtually all the shops closed but the attractions, such as they were, remained open.

Sunday was Mark’s day to clean his small flat, get the weekly shopping in, and generally work through his To Do list, crossing off each item with relish.

Unfortunately, it was also the day his mother usually chose to make her weekly phone call, and her timing was always lousy.

Monday was his day off. And summer Mondays were the best.

Mark parked the car at Yaverland car park and after paying for his parking ticket, he headed down to the beach to go for a walk along the shore.

It was a glorious July morning. The temperature was already pleasant, considering the fact that it was eight o’clock, and there were only a few people dotted over the beach.

A few lone dog walkers were the norm at this hour.

Mark loved coming here at this time, before all the tourists arrived with their kids, windbreaks and other beach paraphernalia.

Come midday, this section of the beach would be knee-deep in children and dogs.

Not that Mark had anything against children and dogs—it simply turned a walk along a beach into an obstacle course.

His rucksack nestled between his shoulder blades, Mark strolled along the shoreline, his bare feet leaving indentations in the moist sand.

The tide was out, and the sun sparkled on the sea.

The only sounds were the waves rolling over the pebbles and the cries of seagulls as they rode the currents of air along the cliffs.

Mark wore a tee and a pair of shorts, his flip-flops shoved into a side pocket of the rucksack.

The sun heated his skin, and he couldn’t restrain his happy sigh.

I love living on this island.

Most people his age couldn’t wait to get off it, but Mark had no such yearnings.

He loved the place all year round. Yes, it was tough living in a tourist spot where the population doubled in the summer, but that was only a small percentage of the year.

Mark hated those BMWs—Bitchers, Moaners and Whiners—who were forever complaining about how the level of traffic on the eastern side of the island was a bitch in summertime, how difficult it was to get around with all the tourists everywhere, blah blah blah.

If you don’t like living here, the ferry’s thattaway…

Mark headed for the far end of the beach where the crumbling red cliffs gave way to white chalk cliffs, a leisurely twenty-minute stroll from the car park.

It was an unofficial nudist beach and Mark’s guilty little secret.

Even in the height of summer, few tourists ventured this far along the shore, preferring to stay closer to the car park with its cute, environmentally friendly sanitation block, complete with wind turbine to generate its required electricity, and the café with its outdoor seating, hot and cold food, and beach supplies.

At this hour, there was no one this far along, which suited Mark just fine.

Scratch that last thought.

Mark spotted a solitary figure sitting on the rocks at the base of the cliffs.

From this distance he could see it was a guy, sporting long beach shorts and a hoodie.

Mark kept his eyes on him as he drew closer.

All he could discern at this point was that the guy had long, tanned legs.

Yum . Mark was a sucker for tall guys. He found himself thinking about the hunk in the salon on Saturday.

What was his name? Yeah, Sam. Now that had been one hot as fuck guy.

Too bad he didn’t like dick.

Then a thought occurred to him. You don’t know that for sure.

He dismissed the idea. Okay, I’m not remotely drop-dead gorgeous, but I’ve been told I’m cute, and Sam never even took a second glance.

As he got closer, the seated figure glanced briefly in Mark’s direction and then stared out to sea once more. Mark caught his breath.

No. Fucking. Way.

It was Mr Gorgeous himself.

For s second or two, Mark was at a loss. Should I acknowledge him? Say something ?

And what the hell was Sam doing sitting alone on Yaverland beach at this hour of the morning?

Mark was not a gregarious kind of guy. He kept to himself at work, save for the odd chat with Sonia when the opportunity presented itself. There was a reason his cheeks flamed bright red as often as they did. Mark was very shy. And as for his social life, well, that was…. crap, basically.

He kept his eyes fixed on the white cliffs up ahead, making up his mind not to let on to Sam.

He felt guilty about it, though. He knew how much he liked it when he was walking around the island and fellow walkers, complete strangers to him, would greet him with a brisk nod and cheery hello.

Mark always responded with a smile and a similar greeting.

He’d never do that himself: the most he’d do was greet everyone with a polite smile.

And he hated it when some sullen bastard would stare back coldly at him. Civility didn’t cost anything, did it?

As he drew nearer, Mark took a good look at Sam. He was sitting on a towel, knees bent, leaning back on his hands and looking out to sea. The light early morning breeze played with his hair. What struck Mark most was Sam’s expression. Despite the loveliness of his surroundings, he looked sad.

Mark got to within a few feet before Sam became aware of him.

He gave a brief nod toward Mark. “Morning.”

Mark gave Sam a nod and a smile, then continued on his way.

Does he recognize me ? He waited for Sam to say something else as he passed by, but there was silence.

Mark pushed out a breath and forged ahead up the beach.

He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of talking to Sam made him nervous.

He deliberately kept his eyes forward, unwilling to draw attention to himself.

And he was definitely not thinking about that gorgeous face he’d just left behind.

Face? Everything about Sam ticked Mark’s boxes. The guy was his fantasy brought to life. Yet a part of him wondered what on earth would make the guy so sad in the midst of such natural beauty.

The nudist beach was empty, so Mark had his pick of where to lay his towel.

There were flat sandy areas up on the ledge at the base of the cliff, or he could choose to lie in one of the pebbled dunes below the shelf which marked high tide.

After a second or two of deliberation, he chose a wide sandy spot, sheltered from the breeze and a good vantage point from which to spot any visitors who approached.

Mark remembered all too clearly the time when he’d been seriously freaked out by a guy who strolled casually up the beach, gawking first at Mark, and then at a woman who’d been there on her own.

He’d watched as Creepy Guy walked up to the huge rocks at the end of the beach, did a 180 degree turn and walked back, pausing to gawk once again.

When he did yet another turn, Mark could tell that the woman was getting seriously pissed off by the unwelcome attention.

He’d been about to say something when she had got up and had words with Creepy Guy herself, sending him off with a flea in his ear.

Mark had given her the thumbs up and she’d grinned at him.

Mark set his rucksack down on the sand and took out his large beach towel.

He spread it out, first pulling it flat and then weighting it down with a few of the larger pebbles.

Next came a bottle of water and his sunscreen, and finally, his Kindle.

With one last look around, Mark stripped off his T-shirt and shorts and folded them into a small bundle on which to rest his head.

He stretched his arms up into the air, loving the feel of the sun on his nude body.

He thought briefly about going for a dip in the sea, but on reflection decided he’d wait until it had had a chance to warm up a little.

He knelt on the towel and applied the sunscreen liberally, making sure it covered as much skin as he could reach, before spreading himself out on his back, legs parted slightly.

God, that feels good . He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the incoming waves as they crashed over the pebbles.

Hearing it made Mark yearn once more to have a home right on a beach.

His idea of heaven would be to open the windows of his house and be able to hear the sea.

It was a sound he never grew tired of hearing.

The crashing waves provided an almost hypnotic soundtrack, lulling him into an extremely relaxed state where it was easy to slip in and out of a doze.

When he opened his eyes and glanced at his watch, Mark realized he’d been asleep in the sun for an hour.

Time to turn over. He rolled onto his belly, wriggling contentedly as he got comfortable, and reached for his Kindle.

He searched for the book he’d been reading on Sunday night before going to sleep.

It was a great story, and he soon became lost in the tale once more.

And then the main characters began fucking.

God, the sex was hot. Mark found himself humping the towel as he read the graphic scene.

The way things were going, this was as close as Mark was going to get to experiencing hot sex.

Not that he was a virgin—he’d lost his virginity at the age of seventeen—but opportunities for hooking up were few and far between on the island.

The boy who’d taken his virginity hadn’t even been gay.

He’d been the eager recipient of a blowjob who Mark had finally talked into fucking him in Mark’s bed when his mother had gone out one cold winter’s afternoon.